


Some Light Reading

by OneofWebs



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dating, Double Penetration, Double Vaginal Penetration, Established Relationship, Fantasy Fulfillment, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Nipple Play, Pillow Principality, Service Top, Snake Anatomy, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Weird anatomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 20:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19838050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Aziraphale doesn't usually read non-fiction, but he'd managed to get his hands on some book about snakes. He's a little too caught up in their anatomy, though Crowley does have to press to learn what exactly Aziraphale's been thinking about.- or -Crowley obliges Aziraphale's sudden desire and makes an effort for two cocks.





	Some Light Reading

**Author's Note:**

> I had an itch. It had to be scratched. I scratched it. This is your final result, and I'm not going to apologize for art.
> 
> 𓆏 your frog is in the beginning notes this time, whatever will you do?

Aziraphale liked to read, that was no secret. He rather broadcast it as loud as he could, what with owning a bookshop that never sold anything. What he didn’t broadcast was his preferred type of reading, as he was a collector of all books. Some were fictional, somewhere first edition personal accounts of particular events that had interested Aziraphale and those that had not. Others were anthologies or diaries or the like. All of them old and in relatively good condition. The book he had now was none of his usual reading material, and it was quite of newer edition. Like a book he’d just popped down to the local store to purchase and bring home. Nothing sophisticated and nothing overly expensive. Still, the _moment_ Crowley had walked into the side of the shop, Aziraphale had slapped it shut and tucked it beneath a stack of other, more collectible books.

Crowley, of course, hadn’t noticed the sudden jerk. What he did notice was the way Aziraphale was fidgeting and looking everywhere in the room but at him. Which, alright, that was fine. Everything he was doing spoke loudly that he had something to hide, but the tells were so obvious now it almost hurt to bring them up. So, he didn’t. Crowley sauntered in like everything was fine, and Aziraphale wasn’t about to lie through his teeth. He even managed to push his sunglasses up, just to _really_ watch Aziraphale’s features. A child would’ve been able to figure out when he was hiding something. The hard part was figuring out what he was hiding. Aziraphale, as ever funny as it was, was none the wiser to his own tells and rather thought Crowley wouldn’t be able to figure him out.

“Angel,” Crowley greeted, “nice to see you.”

“Yes, yes. Nice to see you too. I wasn’t expecting you,” his fingers were twitching together in his lap.

“You’re never expecting me.”

“Yes, right,” Aziraphale laughed. Then he caught something he hadn’t when Crowley walked in; he’d been too busy trying to hide his book to really take it all in. Crowley usually looked more or less the same, though his hair tended to change from century to century, when he caught the right mood. Whatever it was. Today, the only different thing was the little bag he had dangling from his fingers.

“What’s that?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh,” like Crowley had either forgotten about it, or he was pretending it wasn’t important. “Just a little something I picked up. Nipped out to the market for,” he paused, “a quick temptation. Found this,” he held out the bag for Aziraphale.

It wasn’t as though Crowley was particularly good at lying either, especially when his lot was considered. However, Aziraphale’s particular brand of daftness made it rather easy to get by with quick little things like that. Not because he believed that Crowley would actually stop by an outdoor market to tempt young people to steal, but because he simply didn’t have the free space in his head to consider another option. He was always thinking, too much thinking, and preferred to continue thinking than rather ponder what the real motivation behind Crowley’s trip had been. He was much more focused on the bag and what was inside the bag.

“It’s nothing special,” Crowley continued to deflect, “just some tea I thought you’d like. S’one of those foreign brands or—”

“Oh, I haven’t had this in the longest time,” Aziraphale interrupted. He hadn’t meant to interrupt, exactly. The words had just slipped out, and he hadn’t noticed. He was too busy staring at the decorative tins, reading their labels. “This one I do remember is particularly sweet, I don’t think you’d like it. This one, though,” and he pulled out the third tin, “has a very strong hint of citrus. I do love citrus.”

“I know you do, angel,” Crowley muttered, though he was attempting to sort out just what a ‘strong hint’ was.

“You didn’t have to get me anything—is there an occasion I’ve missed?”

“What? No, nothing of the sort,” Crowley almost sounded offended. “You don’t miss occasions; you enjoy them too much. No, I just. I thought—ugnk,” he folded his arms.

Aziraphale smiled. “Thank you, my dear. Perhaps you’d like to stay and have a cup? It would be a waste to enjoy such a fine beverage alone.”

Crowley was about to accept. He could use a nice sit down in front of the fire with a cup of tea; Aziraphale was particularly skilled at making tea. But. Something else seemed more pressing, and it was the way Aziraphale’s foot was tapping, and he still wasn’t making eye contact. Nothing about their relationship had ever strictly adhered to social cues, so staying wasn’t necessarily required of Crowley. Though, he daresay that Aziraphale didn’t _want_ him to stay, and the offering had been something apart of that obligatory social—obligation. Crowley’s nose scrunched up.

“No, that’s quite alright. Something or other I should attend. Elsewhere. Not here,” he figured it was well enough.

“Oh, a shame, then.” Aziraphale’s smile was a bit strained. All of him was a bit strained.

“Some other time? I can stop by tomorrow.”

Aziraphale nodded, “yes, that would do nicely. I shall see you then, my dear.”

This was comfortable because Aziraphale could be expecting him, this time, and hopefully not have another dreadful display of attempting to hide something. He wanted just enough to hear the front door open and close before he pulled the book back from the stack. A pleasant thing remained that the book was an old leather-bound book where the title was only etched into the spine, so Crowley couldn’t see it. Aziraphale had waited for the door but made no move to ensure that the door had meant what he thought it meant. In fact, Crowley greeted the customer on his way out, at a bigger loss now than before with a book of no title.

Still, just as promised, he waltzed back into the bookshop the following day for a promise of tea. And yet again, Aziraphale—even expecting him this time—had that rushed look on his face and twiddling fingers. This time, Crowley recognized where the book sat in the ever-growing stack and marked it for later. They couldn’t very well brew tea in the middle of a shop, which would mean Aziraphale would need to pretty off to the kitchenette that somehow fit in the shop. He didn’t have a room or a bed or more than a few chairs, but he did have a kitchenette. Crowley always thought it was cute.

“What will you be having, then?” Aziraphale started in the midst of the silence.

“I’ll let you decide,” Crowley said, plopping down into the nearest armchair. It was particularly cushioned. “You seem a better sense for tea than I do, anyway.”

“Right, then,” Aziraphale put his hands together and rubbed them, looking positively more joyous about the prospect of brewing tea than anyone had any right to be. Crowley watched him, chin perched on his fingers, as Aziraphale waddled back into the kitchenette. He waited, then, with some sense until he heard water running before darting up to his feet. With less sense, then, because he’d made quite a noise as he did it, but that was a problem for a different him.

Only, the book wasn’t where he knew it had been, because the damned cleverness that Aziraphale had stored away for rainy days was watching over him now. He must have snapped his fingers and moved the book, somewhere—but Crowley knew what it looked like, and he would be able to find it. It was on the desk somewhere, it had to be, or Aziraphale would risk losing it himself given the state of the bookshop. Rummaging around was loud and apparently very much a sign that Aziraphale needed to hurry back, because the very _second_ that Crowley got his hand on the book, Aziraphale was nearly launching himself over to stop Crowley and the book. He missed, of course, and stumbled rather stupidly into the desk while Crowley stuttered backwards on his heels.

“What on earth, angel!?” Crowley looked at him with disbelief. He’d read the title just before Aziraphale managed to snatch it from his hands, red in the face. “That’s a book on snakes, that is!”

“Don’t say it with such an accusatory tone! It’s just—it’s just a _book_ , Crowley!” Aziraphale was hugging it to his chest now.

“A book you’ve been _hiding_ , angel, unless you think I’m too stupid to see—”

“No! No, never, I just—rather, it’s a bit of a personal thing, and well,” Aziraphale clamped his lips shut before he said anything else. Now, Crowley was just looking at him with a dumb wide eyed, open mouthed look. The very same look he’d given Aziraphale when he learned of the whole flaming sword business. Rather awful, as it were.

“What personal thing are you doing with a book on snakes?” Crowley had to ask. He might have offered the age-old idea of living with the real deal, as he was, by all means, a snake. However, he was no expert on even himself. But the redness spreading ear to ear over Aziraphale’s face spoke this wasn’t just a simple fact-finding mission. All Crowley could do was raise a helpless eyebrow.

“It’s _personal_ ,” Aziraphale continued, searching for whatever he could string together after that to make it a viable argument. The issue remaining, obviously, that he didn’t have a viable argument.

“Sure,” Crowley agreed, “but you’ve shared lots of personal things with me before. What’s so special about this one?”

Aziraphale pressed his lips tightly together and wished, very hard, for Crowley to disappear. Crowley was usually so good at getting the hints, but this one. This hint he’d gotten, looked at fondly, and thrown out the car window going 100 miles per hour. Of that, Aziraphale was sure. If he had wanted to take this hint to leave, he would’ve left already with or without his tea. No. Crowley was enjoying this, the fiend. The wily, attractive, incredibly clever fiend. Aziraphale was having trouble keeping his eyes up, where they should be, even if there was no eye contact.

Everything about Crowley just oozed sex appeal. Ooze that it may be, Aziraphale would be more than happy to drink it like the finest wine—

“Aziraphale,” Crowley folded his arms. “No fun to tease you when you just sit there and stare at me.”

“Right, sorry. Apologies, I must have zoned off there.”

After that, Crowley sat down for a very well brewed cup of tea and did not speak more of the issue. He had always been a player for the long run, it was just what he did. Even his very first temptation had rightfully been the first step for humans achieving Humanity, and the rest of the world followed suit. Eventually, anyway. There had been smaller plays, of course; not everything could craft the rest of forever in quite the same fashion. The one he was most proud of was waiting centuries to throw back temptation for lunch, as Aziraphale had nearly stumbled out when they were in Rome together. Any longer, Aziraphale may have forgotten, though the cheer of the moment did rather dull the effect. Still, this was Crowley’s game. The long run. Aziraphale could try, but he would find out soon enough what was going on.

Patience may so less be a virtue, then, than a vice. And Crowley did wickedly grin as he bid goodnight for the evening. Aziraphale thought he might have even won.

Two days later, Crowley came waltzing back into the bookshop like he owned it, swinging a little bag on his fingers. He walked through the bookshop like a man who knew how to trip without falling, looking over a few things before dancing around the only customer in the building and poking his head into the back room. Aziraphale hadn’t heard him enter, which meant he hadn’t had time to shove the book away where Crowley couldn’t see it. Not that it particularly mattered, since Crowley knew about the book now anyway. Still—just an inch to the left and Crowley would be able to see what passage Aziraphale was on.

“Hey there, angel,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale startled out of his skin in his haste to push the book to the right, where Crowley wouldn’t be able to see it, and simultaneously turn around to greet him. “Crowley! What a surprise, yes—hello. Hi.”

Crowley nearly laughed, “hello yourself. Brought a little something,” he held up the bag. “Not tea this time, mind, but I was down by that little pastry shop you love—”

“Oh, Crowley, you didn’t have to.”

“I bailed on dinner, figure I needed to make it up.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows knitted together, “when did you bail on dinner? We haven’t had plans—”

“Three weeks ago, remember? My little emergency.”

Aziraphale blinked. Then nodded. He did remember. Crowley had phoned him not thirty minutes before he was supposed to stop by with the Bentley and drive them off to this new little Asian place that had opened. His excuse had been rather unflattering, something about his plants—Aziraphale didn’t rightly remember that part.

“Right, three weeks,” he finally agreed. “So, you’ve brought me something?” He turned the chair and patted his hands happily against his thighs. If there was one way to buy an angel, it had to be with gifts, Crowley thought. And Aziraphale did so love his gifts.

So much so that he’d forgotten his worry of the book and simply let Crowley saunter over and plop his arse on the edge of the desk. All he had to do was peek over his shoulder and he would have accomplished his goal. But, first. Aziraphale. He did so have an eye for him and his red cheeks, so he paid attention first. He handed the little bag out for Aziraphale to take and watched him rummage through it attentively. When he pulled out the little pastry—Crowley knew he’d bought three, so Aziraphale must have been pacing himself for the moment, to waste time—Aziraphale marveled at it, because of course it was his favorite. All three of them were his favorite, because food was his favorite. Still, he had a preference for the doughy ones filled with a chocolate creme.

“Of course,” Crowley said. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”

“Obviously not. You seem to let nothing slip past you.” Which was when it dawned on Aziraphale that Crowley still had his sunglasses on. That he couldn’t really see where Crowley was looking. That the book was still wide open on the desk, and Crowley had an arm folded about his middle and his hand over his mouth like he was attempting to repress something.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale muttered.

He _heard_ the hard exhale Crowley made through his nose. Like he had questions and concerns and comments all wrapped up into something he couldn’t quite confess, because he was looking over what Aziraphale had just been reading, and—

“Reproduction?” Crowley finally managed, though his voice was a little hoarse.

“Yes, well,” Aziraphale didn’t have an excuse.

“An interesting selection.”

“Yes, well.”

Crowley shifted against the desk and folded his ankles, still staring down at the book. There were pictures, the kind that were black and white and obviously drawn by hand, originally. Still, they were incredibly detailed. They were of a pointedly male snake, as well, and Crowley just had to wonder.

“This isn’t one of your usual reads, no.” Aziraphale preferred fiction; Crowley knew.

“Not particularly. Thought I’d branch out,” and covered it up with a bit of an awkward laugh. Crowley shifted again.

“Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me this evening?” he asked, finally looking squarely at Aziraphale. His glasses had fallen down the bridge of his nose, by either Crowley’s force or gravity’s, Aziraphale didn’t know. But it meant his eyes were peeking over the top and commanding Aziraphale to look at them. So, he did. He was helpless to it.

“I’ll, uh,” Aziraphale straightened his coat, “stop by the flat, then?”

“I should hope so,” Crowley slinked away from the desk. “It’s been sometime since I’ve hosted you.”

The meaning did not go unnoticed. Aziraphale gulped.

Come that evening, he had to take a cab to Crowley’s building, though it was reasonably close enough for a walk. He had the book clutched up in his arms and had eaten all three pastries already. Crowley hadn’t even had to ask to know something was up, which was to be expected. They’d known each other for six-thousand years, and Aziraphale was never the best liar. Not around Crowley, anyway, who was clever enough to see past it. The Archangels hadn’t been, but that probably wasn’t something he should let himself think, lest they be watching. Instead, he thought on Crowley and where this little discussion might lead. Crowley might think he was a fool, disgusting—perverted, maybe. Or, it could go entirely elsewhere. Crowley’s body language in the bookshop hadn’t exactly been. Well. Readable, so to say. He could be walking into anything.

He did, self-indulgently, have a preference for what he was walking into. The last time Crowley had _hosted_ him at the flat, he’d spent no more than fifteen minutes fully dressed. Though, a repeat performance of _that_ night might be too much to ask for.

When Aziraphale arrived at the flat, he hesitated for exactly thirteen seconds before he rang the doorbell. Then, the seconds ticked by like hours until all reality said a minute had passed. Crowley was making him wait, he had to be. Just for whatever sick enjoyment he’d get out of watching Aziraphale squirm in the hallway, which was all entirely unnecessary. If Crowley had neighbors, Aziraphale had never seen them before. The only person who might get any joy out of watching him fidget was—

“Crowley, answer the door this instant!” Aziraphale’s shout was no more a shout than it was a whisper. The door opened half a second later, and Crowley was wearing a smirk he had no business sporting. Aziraphale frowned.

“Sorry, angel. You always keep me waiting,” and he stepped aside to show Aziraphale in. Aziraphale, who promptly ignored Crowley’s rather off-handed comment and walked straight off into the study where he slammed his book down on the desk. Crowley followed shortly behind.

“You made the effort before the humans had even figured out how to count years,” Aziraphale said plainly. A little worked up.

“Um. Yes?” Crowley blinked. “You’ve—well, you’ve _partaken_ in it. Several times. We’re _dating_ —”

“Yes, yes, that’s not the point,” Aziraphale waved it off. He was flipping through the book in what appeared like a sudden burst of confidence, but his fingers were shaking. Then— “You were a snake.”

“ _Am_ still technically a snake,” Crowley corrected. He even did the tongue thing for emphasis. It took less effort to hiss a forked tongue than it did to produce a human shaped one.

“Yes, yes, right. Technically, but again, not the point.”

“Could you please _get_ to the point then, angel?”

“It’s embarrassing!” he nearly shouted when he’d finally found the page on the book. Conspicuously _not_ bookmarked. Then, he promptly sat back in Crowley’s throne and sighed.

Crowley raised an eyebrow and stalked over, once again looking at the same reproduction passage. He didn’t read it then, and he still wasn’t going to read it now. He wanted to hear whatever the _point_ was from Aziraphale’s own lips and nowhere else. So, he waited. He waited and watched as Aziraphale fiddled with his fingers and nervously looked about the room.

“Angel,” Crowley tried, moving close enough that he could prop himself on the arm of the throne and reach a hand around the back of Aziraphale’s head. He ran his fingers through his curls and smiled. He didn’t even have to comment further for Aziraphale to noticeably relax.

Aziraphale knew how foolish he was acting. In all six-thousand years, Crowley may have thought him ridiculous or silly at times, but never for anything that mattered. It might have been for the crepe incident, nearly getting himself discorporated over a want of something sweet. Then, there had been the Apocalypse thing. No other circumstance jumped out where Crowley had genuinely thought he was being stupid, as he quite assumed he was being at the moment. Crowley didn’t judge, which was probably for the best given his lot in life. Being a demon would be rather difficult if he went around judging people for their actions, so. By no right would he judge Aziraphale, not for anything he had in mind.

Just what was holding Aziraphale back then?

Quite simply just how _new_ their new relationship was. Six-thousand years was a long time to be friends, but they weren’t friends anymore. They were, well. Dating, as Crowley put it. It was a word, and it seemed to work over what they were doing. But it was still new. And even newer still was their _physical_ relationship.

“I had intended for you to talk to me,” Crowley finally broke through the silence. “I didn’t intend to invite you over to mock you, if that’s what you think—”

“No! No, never,” Aziraphale shook his head. “I know you wouldn’t. This is simply my own lack of. Something or other, I—rather, I’m a bit uncomfortable…” Aziraphale sighed. He rubbed at his temples and tried to focus on the way Crowley’s hand was on his neck now, just resting. Warm.

“I will never understand your sense of timing,” Crowley lamented.

What Aziraphale had been calling a new relationship was actually edging on six months old, at this point. In comparison to their friendship, new was a proper term, but it wasn’t as if they were strangers. Then, not two weeks after Crowley had asked to make it official had they tumbled straight into bed one drunken night at Crowley’s flat. Aziraphale was learning to like the flat. He’d even gotten to bring a few things over; he smiled.

“I’ve never been very good at that.” Aziraphale’s smile widened when Crowley leaned down to press a kiss into his cheek. The hand that had been on his neck was now massaging, rubbing in little circles just at the tip of his spine. It was divine.

“You can tell me anything, angel,” Crowley had _whispered_ ever devilishly as he was. With his other hand, he reached out for the book and pulled it to the edge of the desk where they could both see it. “Tell me what it is you’ve been thinking about. I’m curious—” which he broke off in a very pointed _hiss._ Aziraphale could almost feel the tip of that tongue against the shell of his ear, though there was a lack of wetness that proved he was imagining it. Longing for it, even.

“It’s just that,” Aziraphale breathed, “snakes. You’re a snake. And I was just, well—” his breath caught up in his throat again, but Crowley understood well enough. He’d understood from the moment he saw the passage but had hoped that Aziraphale would say something about it. His face was red.

“So, it fascinates you, does it? That particular piece of anatomy?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“And you want to know what it would be like? Maybe not true to form,” and Crowley thought himself rather amusing, “since they’re short, rounded. My angel needs something a bit _more_.”

Aziraphale didn’t respond, but he shifted uncomfortably in the seat.

“Some are smooth, you know. Others have all manner of hooks and barbs on them.”

“Oh—please, I don’t need—”

“I know,” Crowley laughed. Neither one of them was entirely sure who was serious. “I know exactly what you’re talking about. It’s not what they are, no,” Crowley was close. Too close. “It’s about how many.”

Aziraphale _gulped_ then, because Crowley did know. Crowley knew more than he had let on, the clever bastard. And now, he was uncomfortably turned on. Which, of course, Crowley knew and was doing nothing about.

“And you’re,” of course Crowley was going to make a show out of explaining exactly what Aziraphale wanted, and Aziraphale was going to listen to him do it, “thinking just if that’s something I can do for you. I can do _anything_ for you, angel.”

As Crowley’s voice got deeper, his breath hotter as he leaned closer, Aziraphale’s face grew redder. He was fidgeting, trying to focus more on himself in the moment than how Crowley was literal centimeters from touching. His other hand was still _firmly_ on the desk, while the one on his neck remained in its little circling.

“Because I know exactly what you like.” Crowley just had to continue, reveling in watching the way Aziraphale squirmed and blushed. “And when I craft them just for you, should I let you touch? Or should I lay you out on the bed and take you? Maybe you’d prefer the floor, even. Something carnal, just like these little desires of yours.”

And Aziraphale did desire. He desired a lot.

“Oh, Crowley, dear, please,” he managed out.

“You have to say it first. For all I know, I’m entirely wrong,” and he pulled away. He even stepped away from the throne, his hands up.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale deigned to whine, because he _knew_ Crowley knew what he was doing. It was all part of the game he liked to play, and even as Aziraphale denied it, he did also enjoy the game. If he had actually wanted Crowley to stop with the theatrics, he would say something. The new agreement.

Crowley just shrugged, kept his hands up, and made look like he had no idea what was happening. If Aziraphale wanted something, he was going to have to ask. Crowley’s smirk supplemented the ‘like a good boy’ part, and Aziraphale huffed to himself.

“I thought we might…” he paused to breathe, “ _try_ it. Rather, I mean— _I_ want to, well, experience…” he couldn’t do this with Crowley staring at him like that, so he looked firmly at the ground and gripped at his knees. “Double penetration!” he ended up shouting. “You—I mean, like, like a snake—”

Crowley’s smile was something between devious and fond. “Wasn’t so hard, was it, angel?”

Of course, Aziraphale was furiously blushing. He couldn’t look up from the floor, not even when Crowley took his hand to help him up from the chair. Ever a gentlemen, he swept Aziraphale closer like they might dance and ducked his head to kiss around his ear.

“Shall we move to the bed, love?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale nodded. As fun as the floor might have sounded, Crowley did have such a nice bed. The floor wasn’t nearly as nice as it sounded, anyway, and they had tried. Aziraphale had nearly hurt his back in the process, and Crowley _did_ hurt his knees. It was funny for the ten minutes that the pain lasted, but it wasn’t something he was eager to try again. Besides. The bed. With lovely sheets and a nice plush mattress. Lots of pillows; Aziraphale really loved the pillows.

He followed Crowley down the hallway and into the bedroom where any fear he might have had of everything being a little too scripted and not enough _in the mood_ was wiped away as Crowley took him by the hips. They were kissing a second later, all sharp and hot as Crowley was. He kissed with everything he had; his whole body pressed up against Aziraphale while he worked frantically on the clothing. It might have been easier to just miracle the clothes away, but Crowley loved to touch. He loved to grab. He groaned when he finally got the waistcoat open and the shirt, getting his hands underneath and feeling Aziraphale’s skin.

Aziraphale, in turn, wrapped his arms about Crowley’s shoulders and perked his lips apart to take whatever Crowley had to give him. There was tongue, always so much tongue; he shivered. Crowley’s tongue had a mind of its own; it explored and poked and prodded and was nearly down his throat by the time Crowley was pulling away with an unimpressed grunt. He had to get the clothes off, which was nothing more than a push off Aziraphale’s shoulders before he was dropping down to his knees to work Aziraphale’s pants off. When he had, he was greeted with _nothing_.

“Angel,” he shot an annoyed look up.

“I haven’t—I haven’t _decided_ yet,” Aziraphale replied. “It’s never stopped you before—” and it hadn’t. It didn’t. Aziraphale had to hold back a rather unsavory sounding whimper when Crowley dove in between his thighs anyway.

He’d grabbed up fist fulls of Aziraphale’s arse and pulled him closer, into his mouth so he could get his teeth in on the action. He pressed hot, open mouth kisses over Aziraphale’s mound and licked over the space that might open up into a slick little cunt if Aziraphale so desired. His teeth scraped over the skin, just as sensitive as it should be. Because Aziraphale _remembered_ what it felt like to have Crowley down there, mouth over his cock or tongue deep inside him. He remembered, and it made his knees week to feel it now. Crowley just mouthing over the flesh, dragging his teeth and grabbing at the extra to tug on it and— _oh_ , all manner of sinful things. Aziraphale gripped into his hair, trying to steady himself.

Crowley was kneading into his arse, squeezing the fat deliciously between his fingers and pulling him apart, pulling him open. Again, nothing, but Aziraphale _knew_ and he remembered. He broke off into a litany of moans and Crowley’s name, trying to keep himself up by tugging on Crowley’s hair and pressing him closer. Crowley, always helpful, obliged and _bit_ him—actually bit him. Aziraphale yelped, trembled, and really might have orgasmed right then and there if he had anything to orgasm with. Instead, he just shook until Crowley stood up and help him close for another kiss.

Aziraphale _liked_ kissing. He liked the way Crowley liked to kiss, too. A lot of tongue, open lips, and passionate. Kisses that he knew were all for him, that Crowley had never shared with anyone else. These were the types of kisses that left Aziraphale open and wanting, pliant just the way Crowley wanted him. Where Crowley wanted him now was on the bed, and he gladly backed up into it. He sat down on the edge and patiently waited while Crowley undid his own shirt buttons. When came time for the pants, Aziraphale reached out to help, but Crowley batted his hands away.

“Hands to yourself, angel,” he said. Aziraphale did as he was told and sat there. Naked. Watching Crowley slowly and slower work his own belt off. He worried into his bottom lip; Crowley took the unfair time to pull the belt from the belt loops and let it clatter to the floor first. Then, the button, the zipper, and Aziraphale could see the stark black of his underwear. But more importantly, he could see the rather impressive bulge starting to grow.

His hands were twitching. Crowley was teasing him, and it was unfair. Because he never actually pulled down his pants, Crowley, he just stood there with his fly undone and smirked.

“Crowley, please—”

“In time, angel, in time. I just like to watch you.”

Aziraphale whined.

In the next second, Crowley was pulling Aziraphale off the bed and pushing him down to his knees, where he stayed reverently and still while Crowley pulled his jeans down. His underwear was always tight; it wasn’t a miracle that he could fight into the small pants. But now, Aziraphale was wondering just how they were containing everything. He could clearly see the outline of Crowley’s prick— _pricks._ Aziraphale gulped and waited, shifting his knees a little wider apart.

When Crowley finally, _finally,_ lost the underwear, Aziraphale moaned at the sight before him. Anyone else might have considered the sight strange, abnormal, anything but arousing. Aziraphale was about to have his mouth there, and he couldn’t wait. He did wait, patiently, until Crowley’s hand was in his hair and urging him closer. Then. Then he could do whatever he wanted.

Crowley was hard. But he was patient. After the long seconds drew out, he was well rewarded with Aziraphale mouthing over the head of one cock. The other he held in a firm hand, stroking slowly while he worked his tongue over the other one. He licked from base to tip, spending extra time to lave attention over the slit and taste Crowley fully. Enough for Crowley to lull his head to the side and groan, moving his hips just enough to beg Aziraphale on, who chose this particular cock to lavish his full attention on. The other he left, now wrapping his hand over the one before wrapping his lips around the head and sucking his way down the length of it. The flesh was hot and still growing between his lips—he loved this feeling, Crowley thickening in his mouth. The way he could barely retain control.

Crowley grabbed just a little too hard at his hair, but Aziraphale didn’t relent. Instead, he hollowed his cheeks and bobbed his head, tonging along the underside, into the slit, whatever it would be for Crowley to moan for him. And moan for him, he did. Crowley was struggling to keep his hips still, unwilling to hurt Aziraphale without permission. Instead, he reached down to take his second prick in hand and squeeze over the tip before stroking down. Aziraphale had been keeping steady with a hand on his hip, but he noticed Crowley’s movement all the same and made a move. He moved both of his own hands to grip at his knees as he pulled back.

“Crowley, if you’d be so kind.”

Crowley was always kind. When Aziraphale went back down over him, he rubbed the head of his other cock over Aziraphale’s cheek. Watching him. Keeping a tight grip on his hair to move Aziraphale’s head for him. And then he was pressing the second cockhead to Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale accepted it without delay, and Crowley’s knees nearly bucked when Aziraphale pressed all the way down. His nose was up against Crowley’s pelvis, cocks both buried at the back of his throat.

“Angel—” Crowley’s hips bucked. Aziraphale didn’t move. He hummed, sucked, and paid no mind further because he didn’t have a gag reflex. Not unless it was necessary. He might like to choke on Crowley’s cocks eventually, but for now, he swallowed around them and reveled in the way Crowley was losing control about it.

Soon enough, Crowley was grabbing at his head with both hands and fucking his mouth instead of that passive standing thing he’d been doing. His hips rolled, snapped, fucked in as deep as he could manage while Aziraphale knelt there and took it. With every move forward, his balls hit against Aziraphale’s chin. It was slick and wet and warm. Something he could never get enough of; Aziraphale knew just what to do, when to swallow and when to suck. His jaw was slack, eyes open, and he was staring up at Crowley whose head was rolled back in the pleasure of it. He was close. When he got like this, the way his fingers would tighten up in their grip, Aziraphale knew he was about to come. He let his eyes dip closed and waited.

With one particular thrust where his cockheads hit the back of Aziraphale’s throat, Crowley came with a strangled groan. His hips stuttered once, twice, before he finally stilled and let a hand drop down to cup Aziraphale’s jaw instead. He was still hard when he pulled back. There had no doubt been a bit of demon magic to help, but that was the last thought on either of their minds. A string of saliva still connected them, and it broke when Crowley squeezed his thumb and fingers into Aziraphale’s cheeks to force open his mouth. He’d swallowed.

“Good,” Crowley said. “On the bed, then,” and Aziraphale scrambled to comply.

As was he settling on the pillows, Crowley was crawling on the bed and finding a place between Aziraphale’s thighs to kneel. Aziraphale had finally made a choice, and it caught Crowley’s eye; he ran his hands up Aziraphale’s thighs, grabbing at the fat and skin as he did, until he was leaning over with a handful of hips and mouthing over Aziraphale’s mound again. He’d decided on a fat cunt with thick lips, and it was already beautifully wet and open. Crowley ignored it. He kissed a line up Aziraphale’s belly to his chest, where he made a lovely time sucking one of Aziraphale’s nipples between his lips and tonguing at it. The other, he pinched and rolled between his fingers.

“Crowley—I’m _ready_ for you, I—” Aziraphale’s hips rolled and he nearly buried his face in the pillows as Crowley bit down on him. Gently.

“You don’t get out of the fun, though,” Crowley said. “The fun part is working you open for it. Besides,” and he made a pointed press of his hips, rubbing his cocks into Aziraphale’s folds, “there’s _extra_ this time, hm?”

Aziraphale nodded and shivered. He spread his thighs a little farther apart as Crowley rubbed between them. Every roll of his hips felt like it might be the one where he would just catch and press inside, but. No. He only leaned back over and mouthed over his chest. Aziraphale’s nipples were ever sensitive, pert little buds. One day, Crowley may devote enough time to have Aziraphale come just from this. He sucked on one, molding Aziraphale’s plump pec in his other hand, occasionally pushing with his nails. He continued with that, both hands now squeezing and grabbing and massaging Aziraphale’s chest as his kisses trailed up, along his neck.

They met in a heated kiss, Aziraphale’s arms draped over his shoulders and scraping at his back. Crowley was everywhere, on top of him. Hands on his chest, tongue in his mouth, cocks pushing along his vulva. He needed this. He wanted this. But he could only roll his hips in silent begging. When Crowley pulled away, Aziraphale was panting with a misty look in his eyes. Still grabbing at Crowley’s shoulders. He gasped when Crowley’s nails found his nipples again and made work over them.

“Crowley, dear, please. I. I need you. Inside, please, dear. Crowley—” Aziraphale lulled his head to the side, dropping one hand to grip into the sheets.

“You do? Inside you, yes?”

“Yes, Crowley! Please, you can’t keep me waiting.”

“I can do whatever I want,” Crowley’s tone was dangerous. “You’d _let_ me do whatever I want.”

“Crowley, Crowley—” Aziraphale keened, bucked his hips, as Crowley obliged him. He slipped two fingers between his folds, over his clit briefly before pressing inside.

Aziraphale clenched around him, trembling, trying to grab at Crowley with his thighs to bring him closer. He would go no closer. He worked his fingers instead, pressing them deep and rubbing against Aziraphale’s inner walls. As he scissored them, he thumbed over Aziraphale’s clit and felt him jump. Listened to him whine that this wasn’t what he met, even as Crowley slipped a third finger inside of him.

“You didn’t specify, sweetheart,” and he hissed at every hard s, smiling wickedly and licking over Aziraphale’s lips with his forked little tongue. Aziraphale whimpered in response and rolled his hips down on Crowley’s fingers.

He fucked Aziraphale on his fingers. Slowly. Teasingly. Making sure to pay extra attention to his clit, and Aziraphale sang for him as he did. Every drag of his fingers had Aziraphale twitching, clenching, working himself farther down to try and find more. It wasn’t enough. He needed more, he wanted more. What he wanted were those cocks, hanging thick and hard between Crowley’s thighs. They were an angry red, straining and dripping precum between them. Crowley had to be ready for it, too, but he was paying so much attentive energy to Aziraphale instead.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale tried again, desperately. “Crowley, please.”

Crowley hummed like he hadn’t heard. With one hand, Aziraphale cupped his chest. With the other, he reached down between his thighs and pressed along his own cunt, dipping his fingers down to where Crowley was three knuckles deep inside him. That seemed to jolt Crowley, make him aware of his own need.

“Yes, angel,” Crowley hissed at him. “Just like that. Pleasure yourself.”

He pulled his fingers away and, in turn, helped Aziraphale press his own fingers inside himself. Aziraphale gasped, but he didn’t fight it. He let Crowley guide him, three fingers inside himself, and trembled around them. He’d never, well, that is to say he’d never had Crowley there when he did this. Not watching, not _helping_ him move his fingers in and out. Not pressing in a fourth alongside them. It was almost too much, and then Crowley was leaning down to mouth over his clit. Aziraphale came undone with a shout. He might have even seen stars, especially when Crowley didn’t relent. Didn’t let _him_ relent either. He held Aziraphale’s hand still so he couldn’t pull back, made him gush over his own fingers instead.

“That’s a good angel,” Crowley praised once it was over. “We’re not done yet, though, are we?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “If you leave, I’m going to—”

“Hm?” Crowley looked amused.

Aziraphale shot him a glare but didn’t continue his threat. He was finally allowed to move his hand. Still, following Crowley’s every command, brought his fingers up to his mouth. Crowley’s hand was on his jaw, squeezing again to have him open, and his other hand guided Aziraphale’s fingers between his lips. With a quiet, hissing command to suck on them, he did. He laved his tongue over his own fingers and tasted himself, sucked them clean, then presented them to Crowley who looked like he was about to burst.

There were scales budding up around his hips, and his eyes had bled entirely yellow. His pupils were dilated, his tongue long and slithering between his lips without his permission. At least there weren’t barbs, Aziraphale noted idly, though he wasn’t sure if he’d particularly mind if there were. Surely there was some way for that to work, being an angel. But, another time. That might be the kicker to weirding Crowley out. For now, he shivered as Crowley rubbed his cocks through the mess Aziraphale had made of himself, between his folds where one cockhead just barely caught on his hole. Aziraphale held his breath.

A second later, Crowley was pushing inside him with— _one._ Crowley hiked Aziraphale’s legs up and nearly bent him back in half, but he went straight for it. All he did was roll his hips. He barely pulled back, but each time he rammed himself forward; his second cock slapped against Aziraphale with every thrust, and every thrust was hard enough to send Aziraphale scrambling up the bed. Crowley just shifted closer, on his knees, and ground himself into that wet heat. All of it was a lot. Aziraphale was sensitive; he probably should have known better than to dive right in for this, but he craved it. He craved the way Crowley took him like a desperate, wanting man. Crowley was good at it, which seemed fitting. He knew just what angle to work himself that the head of his cock worked over that particular spot. Aziraphale had to grip into the sheets to keep himself grounded.

Aziraphale was on fire. Felt like he was on fire. Crowley’s thrusts were coming faster now, longer, nearly pulling away before shoving back inside, and each one sent a jolt of pleasure right up through Aziraphale’s body. Crowley had a tight grip on his hips, too, just to make matters all the better. His nails were digging into the extra fat, his fingertips pressing with bruises to follow. It was maddening. Aziraphale’s head was thrown back, his jaw wide open, and still—still, he hadn’t gotten what he wanted.

“Crowley—Crowley, I can take it. I need it—more, your other—”

“Say it,” Crowley hissed, working a particularly hard thrust that ripped a moan from Aziraphale’s throat.

“Your cocks, Crowley, I want them both. I want them both inside me, and I want it now!” he _commanded._

Crowley did as he was told without delay. When he pulled back, Aziraphale mourned the sudden emptiness, but Crowley was back a second later. _Both_ of his cocks, this time, as promised. The stretch was sweet and wide, never painful. Crowley had waited so long so it wouldn’t hurt, because he would never—and this, this was much more pleasing. The slick slide, the easy way he found inside. Aziraphale split right up for him, wanting and painting, rolling his hips down to meet. When Crowley was flush against him, rocking his hips and clearly waiting for permission, Aziraphale gave a hasty nod.

“Move, dear. Fast, if you please. I think I’m—I think I’m about to come again.”

“That’s what I like to hear, angel,” Crowley was marveling over him, eyes wide and smiling just as his lips did. Then, he started to move. Just as Aziraphale asked, his thrusts were hard and fast. Stuttering every now when he lost pace, but always finding just where they needed to be to have Aziraphale panting and falling open for him. With every fuck forward, Aziraphale just seemed to open more, and he was so hot. Every thrust and his belly was moving, chest bouncing, and Crowley couldn’t help himself but to lean down and suck wherever he could manage to get his mouth. Aziraphale’s neck, over his chest, his nipples again.

Aziraphale tangled his hands through Crowley’s hair and let him do whatever he pleased. He rolled his hips to meet every thrust, groaning out Crowley’s name and half thought little sweet things to keep him going. The stretch went all the way up through his hips, his thighs splayed as wide as he could get them. Oh, he would ache later, but it would be worth it. Everything would be worth it; the white heat was building back up. He was close. Crowley was close. His eyes were screwed shut, and his thrusts were losing pace quickly. All he could do now was hold onto Aziraphale and rut into him, moving them both up the bed.

“Come inside me, dear. I know you’re there,” Aziraphale gasped out. He tugged back on Crowley’s hair too, clenching around him.

Crowley looked determined, though, and reached between them to brush his fingers over Aziraphale’s clit. He was daring, even, and rubbed it in time with his thrusts before pushing down through Aziraphale’s folds and touching where they were joined. Aziraphale couldn’t contain himself after that. Just the thought that Crowley might push his fingers inside him alongside his cocks was enough to send him over the edge again, and he came. Cowley didn’t stop his hips, didn’t stop working over his clit either. He kept it up until Aziraphale was coming again, softer this time, and then he came himself. Still, he didn’t stop moving until he’d filled Aziraphale, and Aziraphale was shaking from the over-stimulation.

Then, he pulled back.

He looked down between Aziraphale’s thighs and had a thought to dip back down there and maybe clean him up. The look on his face must have given him away, because Aziraphale knocked him in the hip with his leg and told him not to entertain that idea at all. Which, that was fine. Three orgasms were probably enough for anyone. Especially an angel who wasn’t entirely used to having so many all at once.

“Could still clean you up,” Crowley offered.

“If you take me to the bath, I know you’ll try for something.”

Crowley pretended to look scandalized, but he knew when enough was enough. If Aziraphale was done, then they were done. He wouldn’t press for more, so instead he waved his hand to disappear the mess before flopping down. Aziraphale molded into his side with his head on his chest, positively glowing now. Crowley rubbed into his back and pressed one long kiss into his forehead. Then:

“Next time you want to try something,” he said, “do tell me.”

“I intend to. That was positively wicked.”

Crowley bit back a snort and let his eyes close instead. They’d both earned a bit of sleep, after that.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I think about paying someone to edit for me, and then I do something like this. Weird flex.
> 
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